An Empty Spot Now on the Recliner

I have written 5 drafts and they get too 'wordy', yet I need to get this written down.  I simply don't want to revisit the details.  I do every day anyway.   

There is a very big empty spot at the foot of my recliner where my last puppy was lifted up to, each time she wanted to come up.  And there is a huge empty spot inside of me. 

My sweet, blind, 14 year old Jack Russell finally had her day arrive.  It was the day that she would see again.  She crossed over to where her eyesight was perfect, she was lithe and limber with the energy I knew in her so well up until last year.

I can handle humans all bloody, I love surgery, and death is not scary.  I have been present quite often at the exact time of death when in Hospice nursing.  Yet put an animal on TV and show them abused, or see the puppy mills; I hold a hand over my face.  I have great empathy for people, but the animals get me in the pure love area....especially dogs, with their unconditional love and care for us.

I had been crying all through the night she was sick and just kept vomiting, the poor thing.  I fell into my bed after a night of emesis cleanups, and doggie consoling, I was obviously exhausted.  I knew she was too.  When I woke up that next fateful day--she was lying in a very odd spot, and was very light when I picked her up.  I had her try a tiny bit of water, and after just a few laps, it came rushing back up.  Poor baby.  I could see the depressions in her head and face showing her state of dehydration.
 
She was very anxious and would do her 'normal' cry she did, to let me know she was hungry, had to go out, etc., but this cry escalated to sounds of pain and being uncomfortable.  I felt so helpless!! 

I knew when she couldn't keep the water down we were in big trouble.  I called my son who was at work, and he came as soon as he could.  It was late evening, so we just had the one ER Vet Clinic to go to.  We knew, even before leaving, that we would not walk back in again with her.  We took that very few but precious moments with our dog to cry and say goodbye here, in privacy, but we had to hurry for her sake. 

When the ER Vet saw her, she asked if we wanted to euthanize her, well, of course I didn't want to, but I had to.  Her diagnosis was 'failure to thrive', a diagnosis seen often in Hospice, and in Nursing Homes.  Bodies start to shut down eating and drinking when it is getting ready to die.  I noticed that for the past 4 days, I had been finding her milk bones given as a treat for going outside, in weird places around the house, and for her not to eat those, something is drastically wrong.   

It absolutely breaks my heart to see my son cry.  I know it hurts every mom when we see our children show the deepest part of themselves, crying from pure sadness and loss.  It made me cry even more.

We spent a little time with her in the room, saying goodbye, stroking her silky fur and telling her what a fantastic dog she had been in our lives.  The doctor came in with the famous pink see-through liquid, 3cc's.  She just looked at us and asked if we were ready.  We must have answered yes through our sobbing, and she inserted the needle into the IV catheter and slowly began to push the medicine in.

I don't do real great at that particular time with animals.  Her blind eyes were open the whole time we were there waiting, and although she couldn't see at all, the glazed look that comes after the medication has worked, was too much for me to handle. I looked at the vet and softly asked her, "now?"  She waited a moment, took her stethoscope off from around her neck and listened to Roxy's heart and lungs.  Then she looked at me and nodded.  That's when I saw Roxy's eyes change totally.  The amazing thing is that I saw the difference even in her white-blind eyes between that very moment of being here, and the very moment of passing on.

I tried to close her eyes but they wouldn't stay shut.  I told my son I was starting to freak out, but at the same time, I didn't want to leave her.  We stayed in with her another 5-10 minutes, and then felt we had to leave.  Yet the minute we got in the car, we both started to sob again.

I have been crying for a week.  There is such an empty feeling not only in my house without my shadow following me everywhere, but also a true empty feeling inside of me.  Like something was literally pulled from me.

Where is the soft fur to touch?  The darling head that laid on my lap?  Where is the sound of her nails on the wood floor?  What do I do when it's dinnertime and I've been feeding 1,2, and 3 dogs for the last 14 years?

That kind of habit is not easy to adapt to.  My sleep is now every other night, the sadness is overwhelming, and in the middle of all these feelings is the familiar pain, lurking in the background, just waiting to pull me down when I am otherwise very fragile.

Why do I still sit on my recliner adjusted to accommodate Roxy so she could curl up and keep me warm?  Habit?  Even ingrained into my body movements and mechanics?  Yes.

My sweet, old, blind baby is gone.  She gave us 14 years of love and tenderness.  Just as I told her before and after her shot that night, thank you for loving me so very much honey.....for so very long.  

As we turned and left, I took one more look at my dog laying on the table so still. I wanted to bring her home, hold her in the blankie my son wrapped her in for the ride there, and chalk it up to the flu.  As we knew we would, we walked in the house empty-handed, in tears.

All there is now, is a very empty spot on the recliner by my legs.  It's no longer warm and soft there. 

I miss her so much that it hurts.

Goodbye Roxy....God how I love you.     




Gentle Hugs...